


Right Here Waiting

by myrthrilmercury



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: 2015-2016 NHL Season, 2016 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Awkward Sexual Situations, Bad Cooking, Christmas, Christmas Dinner, Established Relationship, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Misunderstandings, Non-Explicit Sex, Phone Sex, Post-Trade, Rare Pairings, Separation Anxiety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-01
Updated: 2016-10-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 15:01:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8061007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrthrilmercury/pseuds/myrthrilmercury
Summary: After Carl Hagelin is traded to the Ducks, Mats Zuccarello waits for the day they can be together again.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Broadripple](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broadripple/gifts).



> From the prompt I received: "I love their history and I would like to see something from when they were together in NY, or I would like to see post-trade feelings and adapting to a long distance relationship. Post season re-union would also be good."
> 
> Many thanks to MorningSunshine for beta reading this for me!
> 
> Yes, the title is from the Richard Marx song. Which is funny, because I hated it when it initially came out during my childhood, but it grew on me as I got older and my tastes changed. I was out running errands one day while in the process of writing this. I was thinking about various plot points and also frustrated that I couldn't come up with a title. I was listening to the '80s on 8 channel on SiriusXM and this came on. I listened to the lyrics a little more closely since I was stuck at a red light, realized they reflect exactly what's going on in this fic, and then was like "Holy shit, that's perfect!" Hence the title.
> 
> Also, there aren't very many, AFAIK, but "kjære" is a Norwegian term of endearment. Though any Norwegians out there are free to enlighten me otherwise.

When Mats Zuccarello read the news on his phone, his world shattered into a million pieces. 

_Anaheim traded LW Emerson Etem and Florida's 2nd-round pick in the 2015 NHL Draft (previously acquired, 41st overall) to NY Rangers for LW Carl Hagelin, NY Rangers' 2nd-round pick in 2015 (59th overall) and 6th-round pick in 2015 (179th overall)._

Carl was going to Anaheim…and leaving him behind.

No. This couldn’t be happening. _No._ He refused to believe it. 

When his hand began shaking slightly, Mats noticed the missed call notification in the upper left hand corner of his phone. Upon investigating, he realized that he had missed three calls from Carl while he was out on his morning run, which he had finally been feeling both well and brave enough to attempt. 

Mats opened the Favorites menu with the intention of calling Carl back, but then the phone rang, saving him the additional step.

“Carl, I’m sorry—” Mats began.

Carl’s voice was solemn, and somehow apologetic. “So, then…you know.”

“Yeah. Sorry I was out when you called.”

“It’s okay. I just wanted you to hear it from me first. I didn’t want you to find out from the news. I’m sorry.”

“Why? You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Neither do you. I just…” Carl inhaled and exhaled deeply, searching for the right words. “I know it’s a business, but I feel betrayed somehow, you know? I always thought I’d be a Ranger for life.”

“I know.” Even though Carl couldn’t see him, Mats still nodded.

“How’s your health holding up? You doing okay?”

“So far, yeah. Went on my first run this morning…but now, I wish I didn’t.”

“Yeah, but I’m glad to hear you could.”

There were a few awkward moments of silence before Mats asked the question burning inside of him. “So…now what? What about us?”

“Well, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come see you next week.”

“Of course it’s okay!” Mats replied instantly, flabbergasted that Carl felt the need to ask permission.

“And this season, you have my number, and my Skype ID, and I’ll send you my new address whenever I get my new place. We’ll keep in touch, and we’ll make this work. All right?”

“…All right.” Mats still wasn’t quite sure how a long-distance relationship would work, but if Carl said it would, then everything would most likely be fine. His word was his bond.  
***  
Carl arrived the following Saturday, as he had promised. They’d visited one another during the offseason before, but even though they were enjoying themselves, this visit was different. There was a sense of urgency, as if they needed to make the most of their time together before their respective seasons began.

Even though Mats was already planning his own visit to see Carl, the aura of desperation remained in the back of their minds, telling them that every moment was precious, and they needed to live for right then.

So during that week, when they weren’t hiking, swimming, or just hanging out, they were holding each other, making out, and making love as if the world would rend itself asunder come September. 

They lay in bed one night as a mass of entwined limbs, staring blankly at the shadows created by the moonlight shining through the window. Carl looked up at the ceiling for a few moments, deep in thought, before turning his head to face Mats.

“No matter what happens…” Carl reached for Mats’ hand and clasped it in his. “At the end of both of our seasons next year, I’ll come back here.” Carl placed both of their hands against his heart. “I promise.” 

“I’ll wait for you next season, no matter how long it takes,” Mats vowed, squeezing Carl’s hand. “I promise.” 

They remained that way as Mats drifted off to sleep, nuzzling closer to Carl’s chest as he sank into oblivion.  
***  
The Rangers were on fire now, and so was Mats, as Carl kept reminding him during several of their conversations.

Carl was full of superlatives, constantly gushing about how well Mats was doing in spite of being at death’s door in April and still having some speech issues from time to time. Mats couldn’t really blame him. The memory of Carl crying at his bedside, frightened and vulnerable, remained painfully clear.

Mats had never known who was more scared back then—him, Carl, or Brass.

Superlatives or no, what soon became during apparent during the conversations was how little Carl talked about himself or the Ducks. Whenever Mats asked how things were in Anaheim, Carl would evade the question and redirect the discussion back to Mats and the Rangers.

Mats knew why Carl was doing it, but it didn’t change anything. He would be lying to himself if he claimed he wasn’t absolutely ecstatic about the winning streak or his game recently. The team, the media, and the fans were all buzzing in New York, over the moon with the turn of events. He could feel the fire burning within himself, the camaraderie with the guys, and the passion of the fans boosting his mind and his spirit to interstellar heights whenever he exited the tunnel.

But after the final buzzer sounded, the fans had gone home, the media scrum had moved on, and the gear had come off, the Carl-sized hole in the Rangers’ locker room and in Mats’ heart would reemerge.

Whenever Mats brought it up, Carl told him not to worry about it, since he wanted at least one of them to be having a good run.

But Carl was supposed to be right there with him. They should have been celebrating their wins together.

Instead, when Mats and Brass parted ways for the night, or the guys had all disbanded for the time being, he would return to the suddenly empty apartment that had become much too large for him alone.

Tonight, however, was different. He’d spent the off day hanging out with Brass and returned to discover a box in the doorway. 

He hadn’t been expecting any packages, which made him all the more curious as he tore off the packing tape and pulled the flaps open. Inside was a bottle of champagne, a box of chocolates, and a note: _Congratulations on the hatty. I wish I could be there to celebrate with you, but this’ll have to do._

Suddenly, the apartment wasn’t quite so empty anymore.  
***  
Mats and Carl were well into one of their late-night conversations when Carl began to speak, but immediately cut himself off.

“What’s up?” Even though Carl wasn’t saying anything, the awkward mumbling on the other end of the line signified that he was trying to phrase something the best he could.

Carl eventually found the words he had been searching for. “So, um…what are you wearing?”

Mats couldn’t help but chuckle. “Really? We’re doing this?”

“Hey, it could be worse. I could have tried sexting.”

Mats grunted in agreement, vaguely remembering something about a robe and wizard hat, however that went.

“God, this is pathetic, but…it’s been too long.” 

“I know.” Mats recalled their encounters during the summer—the tender kisses that grew increasingly passionate, the quicksilver tongue sliding across his skin, their bodies interlaced to perfection, the hitches in Carl’s voice just before he came…

“Either way…” Carl’s voice snapped Mats back to reality. “You don’t have to do anything, but…can you just keep talking? Please?” 

Mats didn’t have any good ideas regarding the situation, but Carl had asked him to keep talking, so he filled the silence the best he could. He told him everything that had been on his mind, then and now: how much he wished Carl was there, what he wanted to do to him, how hot he imagined Carl looked then, and how beautiful he sounded when he came.

It had been a struggle at first, but the words suddenly flowed in response to the moans and heavy breathing on the other end of the phone, along with _those_ hitches in Carl’s voice, the ones that always signaled he was close to the edge. 

And upon hearing those hitches, the uncertainty dissipated, and Mats found himself momentarily in command, now that Carl was there with him in spirit.

“Come for me.”

And come Carl did, through strained gasps and moans that sealed the distance between them, as if they were right next to one another while Mats guided him through the gates of nirvana.

Mats didn’t participate, so to speak, but was astonished by how much the encounter had turned him on. Maybe next time, he’d join in.

And they’d figure out how this phone sex thing worked.  
***  
Carl’s breakdown was not unexpected. Mats knew that Carl would only be able to maintain the façade for so long. 

The calls had suddenly become less frequent as Carl was spending more and more time either on the ice or in the gym, trying to compensate for what he felt were his shortcomings as the Ducks floundered. Mats had been worried, as he knew exactly why they hadn’t been talking as often. Yet it wasn’t him who brought up the topic.

“Nothing’s working,” Carl lamented one night. “No matter how much time I spend cramming, I’m not producing. I know it, you know it, everyone else knows it.” 

Mats’ concern was overwhelmed by his relief that Carl was no longer running away from his feelings. “Why didn’t you say anything about it before?”

“Because I didn’t want you to worry about me,” Carl replied with a hint of annoyed defiance in his tone. “You had enough of your own shit going on, what with—”

“Of course I worry about you!” Mats snapped incredulously. “When you _don’t_ say anything, that just makes me worry _more._ ”

“See, I can’t even get _that_ right.” The irritation in Carl’s voice had been replaced with defeat. “And I don’t get to see you again until before Christmas? How is that fair? I mean, it wouldn’t be so bad if we at least played against one another, but it’s been almost four months, and I—”

“I know,” Mats said gently, knowing exactly what Carl was about to say. “I miss you too.” He, too, had been lamenting the schedule, but had decided it was best not to mention it.

“I mean, I know we talk all the time, but why can’t I _be_ there?!” Mats barely moved away from the phone in time before Carl started shouting. “I was supposed to be a Ranger for life! When did I stop being good enough?! And why do we only get _one_ freaking day together over break? Why can’t everyone just leave us alone?!”

Mats remembered trying not to be too upset by the well-meaning family members who insisted on coming to see him over Christmas. After their first visit to New York in December, with Fifth Avenue all aglow, the tree at Rockefeller Center and skating in Central Park, of course it was so much more magical then back home. Unfortunately, this year it meant trying to iron out plans with Carl, who had his own family chomping at the bit to see him as well…on different off days. 

_One freaking day._ The same thought had reverberated through Mats’ mind back when he and Carl had finally managed to work that much out. One was better than none, of course, but it wouldn’t be anywhere near enough.

Even the entire break with his fair-haired angel wouldn’t have been enough; not when they had so much lost time to reclaim: time that could have been spent snuggling on the couch with a movie or pioneering a new hiking trail.

Time where all the city lights faded away, one by one, and the world stopped spinning for a few brief moments, just before the horizon exploded into a vivid spectrum of pinks, purples, and burgundies.

Time huddled under a blanket to banish December’s chill, mug of mulled cider in one hand while the other hand lingered on Carl’s arm as Carl leaned against him, nuzzling the head resting on his shoulder. 

It was time they would never retrieve, no matter how much they tried to squeeze into Christmas break. 

“I just…” Carl’s voice pierced the silence, dissipating Mats’ daydream. “I just hope I’m somewhere closer whenever they trade me again.”

Sooner or later, heads would roll in Anaheim, and it was stupid for Mats to pretend otherwise, as he’d just be called out. Instead, he tried levity. “Hey, maybe the Devils need some forwards.”

At least that made Carl laugh until he suddenly remembered the time difference.

“Shit, you’ve got a game tomorrow. I’d better not keep you up.” He had a point. Time zones were a bitch.

“I’ll call you afterwards. I can’t wait to see you next month.”

“Me neither. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Good night.”

 _Good night._ During their previous season together, the words had only been a temporary sendoff, a promise of things to come the following morning.

But now, whenever the phrase was uttered and the call subsequently ended, they were a far-too-brief goodbye before they both disappeared into the night, waiting for their paths to cross again.  
***  
It wasn’t until the game against the Ducks near Christmas that Mats realized just how much Carl had been suffering.

Mats began the night in nervous anticipation, pondering the awkwardness of Carl in the visitor’s locker room for a change. He wound up retaping many of the same areas over and over as he worried over how Carl was handling everything, or how the crowd would react when he left the tunnel as a Duck, not a Ranger.

Brass, ever the empath, gave him a reassuring pat on the back as he walked by, but it hardly alleviated his anxiety.

Everything began well enough. Carl got a standing ovation from the home crowd during the tribute to him on Gardenvision.

Then everything went to shit.

No wonder Carl never wanted to talk about his new team. Mats and rest of the Blueshirts sure as hell weren’t ones to talk that night. The only reason the Ducks managed to score at all that night were because of the Rangers’ own self-inflicted wounds.

Carl just couldn’t get anything going. Neither could the rest of the Ducks. The left hand didn’t just not have any clue what the right hand was doing. It had been amputated and left to bleed out. 

Mats didn’t know which was worse for Carl: the guy’s piss-poor performance due to a lack of direction and cohesion, or having been leveled twice by his former teammates. They were clean hits, but _damn_ would Carl feel those tomorrow. 

They went to overtime, which ended when Mats put the visitors out of their misery with a power play goal. He accepted the jubilant mauling from his teammates with open arms, but still couldn’t keep from noticing an impassionedly distressed Carl in the distance out of the corner of his eye before an overjoyed Henrik obscured his view.

Carl had _that_ scowl on his face, the expression that only appeared when he was hypercritical of himself. Mats didn’t even need to hear Carl’s slightly disappointed tone during the brief half-embrace in the handshake line to know exactly what was going on in his head. Carl not only felt that he was not living up to his potential, but also felt that he had let his team down.

Mats would need to console Carl later, but that would have to wait until the media scrum was finished with both him and Brass.

It was true that the two of them both had a great night, but the reporters sure as hell took their time. Mats briefly pondered the whereabouts of Carl as the _Daily News_ representative asked him the same question the third time. The man seemed to think that rephrasing it every time would change the answer. It didn’t. All it did was annoy Mats and make the man look like an idiot.

By the time the media finally decided they’d had enough, Mats was certain that everyone else had left, and Carl would be long gone. Brass was a few paces behind him as Mats returned to the locker room to collect his things before going home, but soon discovered the area wasn’t empty there after all.

Henrik and Carl, having both changed back into their street clothes by this point, were hanging out on one of the benches. Both of them looked up when they heard Mats and Brass approach.

“I made sure he stuck around,” Henrik said before standing up and heading towards the door. “Hags and Zucc, together again. See you after break.” Henrik gave Mats an affectionate slap on the shoulder before leaving.

“I would have stayed anyway,” Carl stated with a slight grin. “I really fucking missed you guys.”

“Same here,” Brass told him. “You okay to head out like old times, or are you on curfew?”

“Even if I was, I’m a ghost. Nobody would notice I was gone.” Carl stood up and ambled over to the two before turning questionably to Mats. “You coming?”

Mats nodded. Time alone with Carl would have to wait until Christmas. The squad was back together for one night only, and he couldn’t let that go to waste.  
***  
Even if they’d had one more day together over Christmas break, it still wouldn’t have been enough. 

There still wouldn’t have been enough time to convey everything they needed to catch up on, even though they’d already been engaged in a long conversation by the time they made it back to Mats’ apartment— _their_ apartment, as it was once more for that short time span. 

The longing and desperation of the past four months had reached a fever pitch by that point, and words were no longer enough to adequately express the maelstrom of emotions surging through them both as they staggered towards the bedroom, hands never leaving one another as they occasionally separated their mouths for a few moments here and there, barely long enough to take a few more steps before lunging into another desperate kiss. 

Nothing had changed. Carl was still stainless steel, strong and powerful enough to drive Mats over the edge, yet pliable in his affection and tenderness. 

They remained in bed for almost an hour after the final throes had subsided, talking and cuddling, before even deigning to get up and do something else.

It wasn’t much of a Christmas, but it was _their_ Christmas, and Mats managed not to burn the hell out of Christmas dinner this year. This year, Carl was not choking down scorched ham while smiling and insisting it was good before reaching for the potatoes, which had the same temperature as molten lava on the outside and ice water on the inside.

Carl had also insisted the potatoes were wonderful. Mats knew they were anything but, yet Carl still managed to make him feel better. 

This year, Christmas dinner wasn’t so much of a disaster as much as it was bland, but at least it was edible.

Mats tried. He really did. His was a special type of culinary genius—one that needed to stay far away from the kitchen. Maybe next year, circumstances would be different.

The spell of the past four months had been broken by the light of the afterglow, and their true selves shone once again, unsullied by distance, pining, time zones, or team loyalties.

For here they were not Ducks, Rangers, forwards, rivals, or even human beings.

Here they were just Mats and Carl, as their true selves, together again. 

There was barely enough time for them to have Christmas dinner, exchange presents, and snuggle on the couch during their annual viewing of _National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation_ that had somehow become a ritual at some point before Carl needed to catch his flight back to Anaheim.

They exchanged embraces, sweet nothings, and promises to keep in touch before Carl vanished through the gates of LaGuardia, and Mats was alone once more.

The apartment loomed large and empty once again when Mats returned. His mind soon turned to the cleaning he’d need to do, like the mountain of dishes they’d left in the sink and the sheets that now needed to be changed. 

Mats opted to start with the sheets, since that was easier and quicker. He stripped the sheets off the bed and went to do the same to the pillows, but froze once he realized that the pillowcases still smelled like Carl.

He couldn’t wash those yet. He wasn’t ready to. 

After briefly debating the matter, he changed the rest of the sheets, but left the pillowcases on. He wanted Carl’s essence to remain as long as possible.

Later, when he turned in for the night, he curled up against the pillows and pulled them in closer, inhaling deeply.  
***  
The second time Carl was traded, Mats heard the news from him first.

The trade was not a surprise to either one of them. The distance between them was still too far, but at least they were in the same time zone. Another important difference was that Carl already had a built-in friend on the Penguins, so he wouldn’t feel isolated like he did in Anaheim.

Once Carl arrived in Pittsburgh, Mats immediately noticed the change. Not only was Carl willing to talk about his new team and life in Pittsburgh, but he actually _liked_ talking about them. There was no need to pry, because Carl volunteered the information without any gentle nudging. It also helped that Horny and the other guys actually gave a damn about Carl as well, so he had a social life now. 

Best of all, they actually had several games against one another coming up. 

Despite the changes, Carl was still apprehensive at times, and Mats couldn’t really blame him. Coach Sullivan (Sully, as Carl called him) was busy shuffling the lines due to a spate of injuries, and there was no telling how everything would work out.

After the first game in Pittsburgh, Carl whisked Mats back to his apartment for a couple of hours after Brass had promised to cover for him should he miss curfew. Carl’s new place was nothing like what they had shared together previously, since Carl intentionally didn’t have any furniture or other items besides the absolute essentials, as he’d always considered extraneous items clutter. The apartment was very minimalist. Very austere. Very Carl.

With no Brass to cover for them when Carl was back in New York, Mats would visit him at the hotel, since there was no way they were getting to their old place and back on time. Sully was even more of a hardass with curfew (as he was with everything else) than any of their previous coaches. 

During these visits, they discovered that there was no such thing as a non-awkward way to politely ask Kessel to take a hike for a couple of hours. 

Although Kessel always nicely obliged, they still felt as if there was no privacy and they could be caught at any given moment. 

Even so, they always made the most of their time together. There may not have been enough time for the throes of passion, but there was always time for tender kisses and warm embraces.

And many times, that was more than enough.  
***  
The Penguins were nothing like they had been earlier in the year, when they had been floundering under a dysfunctional roster. Now, not only were they firing on all cylinders and scoring almost all of the goals, they had somehow gotten _really fucking fast._

It was almost like they had a new coach or something.

Carl was understandably ecstatic about the turnaround, and it was so much better hearing him sound happy for a change whenever their conversations inevitably turned to work. But Mats harbored a lingering sense of dread in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to have Carl as his rival during the playoffs, but now, it was looking increasingly likely that would be the case.

And then, during mid-March, lightning struck. 

Malkin went down with an injury, forcing Sully to play another game of musical lines. Carl fretted about the development, but Mats was secretly relieved. Maybe then, the Penguins wouldn’t make the playoffs, and he wouldn’t have to consider Carl a rival.

But then Sully replaced Malkin with Bonino. 

Carl had already been Kessel’s linemate for some time, and they’d gotten to be good friends. He never had anything but exceptionally high praise for the man whenever he discussed the team with Mats. With the addition of Bonino, the pieces fell into place, and road games were no longer an issue. Bonino was the falcon that enabled the twin wings to soar into the stratosphere, becoming legendary in the process.

Mats already felt a sense of foreboding whenever he read the game summaries, having come to the realization that the matchup he dreaded was becoming more and more likely. However, something else welled up inside of him whenever he saw Carl and Kessel together.

Carl’s sonnet-esque praise for Kessel during interviews was bad enough. But did he and Kessel always have to get _so damn close_ to one another, or touch that often?

Mats soon noticed that whenever those two were in a celly, it didn’t matter how many other people were participating. Somehow, they always managed to find one another first, hug one another so tightly, get closer than they did to anyone else, and it _stung._

There was no rational explanation for it, and Mats had no reason to believe anything was amiss. Yet every time Carl and Kessel made physical contact, it felt like another knife in his back. Even so, he kept his mouth shut. Carl was having an amazing run, and he wasn’t about to take the wind out of his sails.

Somehow, he had managed not to die by a thousand cuts when the playoff brackets were revealed. The first matchup was exactly as he had feared. Judging by the tone in Carl’s voice when he called Mats after the announcement, Carl wasn’t exactly happy with the situation himself.

They didn’t just agree to put their relationship on hold during the playoffs. They would take it one step further and pretend they didn’t know one another.

Both of them stuck to their mutually predetermined script whenever the media asked them how they’d deal with the matchup. Everything else could wait. Their focus was on the game.

It had to be that way. Otherwise, it would hurt far too much.  
***  
The series ended fairly quickly, as the Rangers were only able to win one away game. The Penguins confounded and stymied them the remainder of the time, with two shutouts thrown in for good measure. 

The relationship rekindled for a few brief moments in the handshake line, as Carl pulled Mats into a half-hug and promised to Skype him the next day. Then both of them were on to the next guy.

Both Mats and Brass texted Carl after the game to ask if he wanted to hang out for a while, but there was no response. Carl was likely busy celebrating with his new team. Too busy for both of them.

Brass asked if Mats wanted it to be the two of them, but Mats declined. At that point, he just wanted to go home. 

It was another year of returning home to an apartment looming large with unrealized potential, which always reemphasized the final salute to the fans at the end: sticks raised in the air before Mats and his brothers-in-arms slunk back down the tunnel in defeat, the children of a lesser god.

This year, there was no Carl to commiserate with. He had Brass, but they were only two legs of the barstool, which collapsed without its third support. 

Carl hadn’t just supported the triad they formed. He had also been Mats’ rock. 

And it wasn’t until he turned out the light in the bedroom one final time that night that he realized how much he really needed Carl.  
***  
True to his word, as always, Carl Skyped the next night. The first thing he did was apologize for not answering the texts or calling the night before. 

Mats brushed the apology aside, as it was all water under the bridge at this point. After all, Carl had a lot going on the previous night. He then confessed that what he really wanted was for Carl and the Pens to win it all.

“You’re okay with it?” Carl asked, confused. “I mean, we were supposed to be doing this together, remember? We promised.”

“I know,” Mats replied. “But you deserve the Cup more than anyone else. I’m pretty sure you’ve been in more playoff games than anyone else in the league—” Mats cut himself off before blurting out the next part of his thought, _with nothing to show for it,_ which would undoubtedly hurt Carl’s feelings. “Besides, we’re a team. And as long as at least one of us is still in the running, the team’s still alive.”

Carl shrugged in bemusement. “I guess.”

“So…win it for me, okay? For us? Please?”

Mats hadn’t seen Carl beam as radiantly in quite some time as he did then. “…All right.”

“And I’ll be watching and waiting back home.”

“That sounds creepy.”

“You know what I mean, smartass.”

“Yeah, I know. I’d love to stay up with you, but I have to be up for interviews tomorrow. I love you.”

“Love you too, _kjære._ Good night.”

Mats stared blankly at the screen for a few moments as he suddenly realized just how much harder these conversations would suddenly become. They’d been spoiled by being back in the same time zone, but now not only did they have that to worry about, there would now literally be an ocean between them. 

There was always a deep melancholy whenever the calls concluded, but now Mats felt as if he were standing at the pier, watching the ocean day after day, waiting hours on end for the ship that never came.  
***  
If the calls had been infrequent when Carl was struggling in Anaheim, now they were downright rare. Mats had been incredibly annoyed with himself the day he missed a call when Carl had some spare time while in Washington. He’d wavered on whether or not to go on that hike, where he’d have no reception, and ended up going. Of course he’d messed up his time zone math.

There were texts and emails, but the response time was understandably slow on Carl’s end. That didn’t stop Mats from checking his phone several times an hour. After that missed call, he was so afraid of missing another window of opportunity that checking for something, _anything_ from Carl became an obsession.

After scouring the internet for a decent stream, Mats watched all of the games religiously; and couldn’t help but notice just how brightly Carl’s star burned. Carl had been an excellent Blueshirt, but somehow, Sully and the other Penguins had unlocked a hidden potential that no one knew existed—probably not even Carl himself.

All of the pieces fell into place. Together, the misfit toys were a harmonic symphony, despite the occasional dissonance between calm and climax. Mats wouldn’t need to trim his nails for the next two months, seeing as there was almost nothing left.

There was an extremely brief call towards mid-morning in Norway, and what had to be the dead of night in California. Mats wasn’t sure which was more surprising: the fact that Carl actually did call him that night, or that Carl could still operate his phone when he was about five hundred sheets to the wind. 

Even so, it had been incredibly sweet of him to call, especially when it was him who deserved the Cup more after having tilted at windmills all that time.

It took some digging, but Mats found a stream that would broadcast the victory parade. As he settled in and tuned out the commentators’ banter, his first thought was how difficult it was to see the parade among the swaths of black and gold swarming downtown Pittsburgh.

Mats recognized the guys, since he’d gotten to know them better when Carl let him hang out at the hotel whenever the Pens were playing away games in New York. The first thing Carl had done after their first rivalry game after the Pens trade was introduce him to his new teammates.

The familiarity made it easy to pick out everyone’s quirks. Of course Bonino was floating around. He always had to be where the action was.

Finally, there was Carl, along with Kessel and someone that Mats eventually recognized as Kessel’s sister, Amanda. It took him a second since he had also been trying to banish his unease at seeing Carl and Kessel standing so close to one another.

They were just standing close for the selfie Carl was about to take. After all, Carl had his phone out, and—

And now Carl had his arm around Kessel.

Mats briefly debated turning off the stream as the knots tightened in his stomach before deciding against doing so. It was for the selfie, he told himself. Nothing more. Sure enough, the arm left Kessel’s waist.

So why were those two still sandwiched against one another? And why did they obviously enjoy being so close as much as they were? 

He’d continue watching. He’d regret it if he didn’t. But the emotional wounds he’d previously bandaged ripped open and bled out once again as the shadows of doubt crept through his mind.  
***  
Carl’s next plane trip was not to Sweden or Norway, but Hawaii. 

It was Carl who screwed up the time zone math for a change the day after the parade when he called Mats after midnight in Norway. Then again, Carl had finally gotten more than four hours of sleep for the first time that week, so maybe it wasn’t that much of a surprise.

Even so, Carl’s brain was definitely fried, enough so that even Carl realized it. It was completely understandable that he needed some time to himself. Of course, this meant that Mats wouldn’t be seeing Carl again as soon as he would have liked, but he needed to think about what was best for Carl and not himself. 

The larger gulf between time zones kept their contact limited to Instagram, since there was very little chance of them catching one another at a decent time (and Carl had probably forgotten how to do math due to the ongoing adrenaline overload). Despite the limitations, they still exchanged plenty of messages, with Carl sending pictures of interesting things and places he saw on the islands. 

Carl seemed to like the various sunset pictures best. Many of them included added sentiments: _Missing you in paradise. I wish you were here to see this. It doesn’t feel right without you here._

While Mats saved all of those messages, he couldn’t get the image of Carl and Kessel out of his mind. Once again, he forced himself to grin and bear it, not wanting to ruin the moment for Carl. Besides, it was a conversation that needed to be held in person.

The shadows of doubt always managed to force themselves into Mats’ brain hours later, even if Carl had sent love notes worthy of Shakespeare. His mind violently vacillated between “stop it, you’re being paranoid” and “you’ve been replaced.”

Almost two weeks later, Mats woke to a very brief message: _I’m going home._

Mats frowned, realizing that if Carl was heading to Sweden, this meant more waiting to see him again. Carl was probably on a plane somewhere, so it was highly unlikely he’d see any messages until later. Asking him about his plans to come to Norway would have to wait.  
***  
Two days passed without any word whatsoever from Carl. 

Mats sighed anxiously and set down the phone in defeat after deciding that enough time had passed that there would be no answer to the fourth text he had sent that day. True, Carl was traveling more than halfway across the world on what had to be very long flights, but it wasn’t like him not to respond. 

Maybe something had happened. Or, perhaps, he was ignoring Mats.

Maybe Mats had been replaced after all. His throat nearly clenched shut as he imagined Carl and Phil sending cutesy texts back and forth, and they’d already be saying how much they missed one another already, maybe even start sexting, and—

Mats almost jumped out of his skin when a loud knock shattered his reverie. Baffled, he walked over to the front door, attempting to purge all wishful thinking from his mind. After all, there was no way it could be—

“Carl?!” On second thought, maybe it _was_ possible. 

“I’m sorry,” Carl sighed as he began dragging his luggage into the foyer. “If you sent me any messages, I didn’t get them. My phone was already dead by the time I got to Heathrow, and I packed the North American charger, not the European one.”

Mats gawked at the figure in the doorway, face and mind frozen in both confusion and shock. “I thought you said you were—”

Carl finished bringing his luggage inside, then stood up straight and gazed straight into Mats’ eyes, beaming joyfully. “I’m home.”

Every nerve surged with sudden warmth in the nanoseconds during which Mats considered all of the implications of that statement. Without another word or thought, Mats closed the distance between them, throwing his arms around Carl as he clung to him, pressing his cheek against Carl’s chest.

“I never should have doubted you,” Mats croaked, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.” It wasn’t until Mats moved his head away that he noticed Carl’s perplexed expression. “I mean, you and Phil—”

“Wait,” Carl interrupted. “Me and…Phil?” Carl repeated, confused.

Until that very moment, Mats had never questioned his assumptions about Carl and his teammate, but suddenly realized that maybe he had worked himself into a frenzy for nothing. “You two aren’t together?”

“What? No, no, no, no, no.” Carl waved his hands in front of his chest. “I do love him, but not in that way. He and I aren’t dating. Why does everyone ask me that, anyway?”

“For one, you two are always gushing about one another like newlyweds, and you’re always so close,” Mats released Carl and pulled away, standing up straight. “I mean, you had your arm around his waist at the parade…”

Carl’s jaw dropped as all of the color drained out of his face. “…Shit. I totally did do that.”

Mats shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—“

“No, _I_ should be the one apologizing. I gave you the wrong idea.” Carl placed his hands on Mats’ face, gently resting his fingertips against both cheeks. “But I need you to do something for me, okay? If I ever do something to hurt you again, speak up. Don’t let it eat away at you again.” Carl leaned over and gently kissed Mats’ forehead. “I don’t want to make you sad.”

“Okay,” Mats replied softly. “Sorry.”

“All these apologies. You’re beginning to sound Canadian.” Carl dropped his arms and backed away before reaching for one of his suitcases. “Mind if I take these upstairs? Hopefully you weren’t in the middle of anything.”

Mats picked up another one of the suitcases and followed Carl to the bedroom. “Not really. I was just thinking about making dinner, but I haven’t started yet.”

“I’ll make sure to keep all the take away places on speed dial, then.”

“I thought you said your phone was dead?”

“Right now, yeah.” They continued talking while they carried the remainder of the luggage up the stairs. “I’ll put them on speed dial when it’s charged, then.”

“Or we could go somewhere.” 

“That sounds like a good idea. But there’s something I need to do first.” With that, Carl stepped forward and pulled Mats close to him, holding him tightly. “I need to make up for lost time.” Carl angled his head down and moved forward until their lips met. 

The kiss was the first of many in both Norway and Sweden throughout the summer. There were quick pecks; lingering smooches; steamy makeout sessions; lazy, drawn-out canoodling, romantic embraces; and deep, compelling kisses in the height of passion.

But somehow, this first kiss was the sweetest of them all.


End file.
